Just Like Heaven
by AnimeFantasy101
Summary: Arthur, an aspiring music composer in NYC, meets a strange boy named Alfred who claims to own his apartment. The problem? Only Arthur can see him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**So I have another story despite not finishing my other two. Can't wait to see how that will work out haha but I recently discovered hetalia here in Japan and had to write about my favorite couple.**

**This story is based on the movie "Just Like Heaven" with Reece Witherspoon. I remembered it and thought I could use the plot to my advantage muahahaha but of course, it's not exactly the same. That'd be pretty boring, right? So I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Warnings: Shounen ai, character death, ghosts, language, France, slight angst, violence, slightly smarter Alfred w/musical talent.**

**Pairing: AlfredXArthur along with a few side pairings.**

**Also, the song Alfred sings a lot is "Just like Heaven" by The Cure. Very cute, go listen to it!**

* * *

_You_

_Soft and Only_

_You_

_Lost and Lonely_

_You _

_Just Like Heaven_

The song played absent mindedly in his head and his eyes fluttered shut, picturing himself sitting before his black, solid oak Chickering Concert grand piano, his long slender fingers gliding over the ivory keys as the song continued to play in his head, starting over and over like a track on repeat. Unconsciously, his fingers began drumming on his leg, emitting a soft patting sound due to his black slacks.

Music was Alfred's life, something he liked to express through the variety of instruments he taught himself to play and the way he would use his voice when he thought nobody was listening.

He was a happy-go-lucky person, cheerful and optimistic if not somewhat boisterous, and no one would have guessed that inside he lived, breathed, and sweat music. The finger drumming on his desk during school hours, the whistling a song that was stuck in his head just to annoy the teachers, even his obnoxious singing with his friends to a random track on his iPod during lunch made anyone believe that the blond haired, blue eyed male possessed little to no musical talent. Alfred was fine with that, he wanted to see the looks on their faces as they saw the slightly clumsy, tall, yet extremely handsome (if he did say so himself) _man—_not the boy who fell down the steps of the stage after getting his diploma—appear on the cover of a magazine or on T.V., playing or singing the music he loved.

He was nineteen years old, fresh out of high school, and determined to make a name for himself.

"Alfred Jones? Francis Bonnefoy will see you now," the receptionist, a woman with long, ash blond hair pulled over and braided down over one shoulder, glasses resting neatly on her nose, said, stepping out of the back room and facing him. "Please follow me."

This brought Alfred to his current position, dressed to kill in his black slacks, light blue button up shirt and matching black and blue striped tie. He was at a popular, well known recording studio about to show off his recent creations to the head of this building, the record producer Francis Bonnefoy, who, according to Alfred's brother, is looking for the next big thing for the recording company Pulsation.

Taking one last long, deep breath, Alfred grinned and stood up from his leather seat in the crowded waiting room, a determined glint in his sky blue eyes. He was going to be the next big thing. Whether Francis Bonnefoy, who was famous for finding talented amateurs and making them known, would agree to that or not was an entirely different matter.

The hallway was unbearably long, the walls blindingly white and the floor a dull grey. Alfred used this time to run through his head exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. Saying the wrong things in the wrong ways was a fault Alfred had, not to mention his vocabulary consisted of mostly slang to the point his parents couldn't even understand what he had said half the time. Not that it mattered anymore, they were dead.

Smoothing down his cowlick for the tenth time, Alfred let out a sigh of frustration when it bobbed back up. He gave up; his appearance was as impeccable as it was ever going to be.

Following the receptionist as she turned a corner, Alfred eyed the large records and pictures of famous celebrities that lined the walls, some of them he knew, some he had never heard of before but still fascinated him.

"Dude, this is sweet!" Alfred failed to suppress his excitement at seeing a rather large picture of who he assumed to be Francis with Mathias Køhler, the lead singer in Alfred's favorite band Nordic. "I didn't know he recorded here too! Awesome!"

The receptionist stopped and looked back at the teen, her face lacking any trace of emotion. "Mathias Køhler? Ah, yes, he comes in here from time to time to visit. If you get hired, chances are you will meet him eventually." She turned back around and continued walking. "However, that will never happen if you do not hurry up and make it to your appointment. Mr. Bonnefoy's time is too valuable to waste with tardiness."

Alfred sweat dropped and striped his eyes away from the photograph, quickly chasing after the woman. "Um, yes, of course," he replied, trying to mimic her manner of speech, which reminded him vaguely of an old man. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

After another minute of walking, the receptionist, who Alfred finally remembered was named Madeline, stopped in front of a black door with a gold name plate on it reading 'BONNEFOY'. "Please step inside," Madeline said, gesturing towards the door. Before Alfred gripped the golden knob, a small hand gently gripped his shoulder, and he looked up to see the receptionist looking at him, a faint smile on her lips. "Good luck, I hope you make it. You are cute, and I would love to see more of you around," she said, releasing him and abruptly turning and walking away. Alfred couldn't fight down the blush that was already forming on his face.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and taking one last deep breath, ignoring the pounding of his heart in his ears, the blond American twisted the knob and stepped inside, the cool air of the air conditioner and a faint smell of roses greeting him as he did so.

The room was purple and the floor was white, extravagant paintings and furniture filled the room, red curtains were draped over the large windows, and, in the very back of the room, a black desk with a large red velvet chair sat, a blond man behind it with a black laptop in front of him and his fingers expertly running over the keyboard. At the sound of the door clicking shut, he lifted his head up and stared intently at the male who just walked in.

Alfred felt a little awkward under that gaze, so he stepped in a little further and nervously fingered the inside of his shirt. "I, um… I'm Alfred Jones, we uh… had an appointment," he said, finishing his broken up and mangled first sentence with a smile in an attempt to make up the horrible introduction.

Instead of being annoyed, Francis smiled brightly and stood up, stepping out from behind the desk and walking quickly up to the teen. "Ah, oui! I've been expecting you, mon ami!" he said, reaching his hand out eagerly for a handshake. "I must say, I did not expect you to be so young and attractive," he said, his voice going slightly more seductive, something Alfred failed to notice. He just mentally breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the obvious French man's hand and shook in firmly, smiling his famous, 100 mega watt smile.

"Sorry if I'm late du—sir," he corrected before was noticed, "I was digg—_admiring_ your picture with Mathias Køhler. He's my hero," he said, almost a little giddy.

Francis chuckled, something that sounded entirely French. "Ahonhon, if this goes well, mon ami, you'll have the chance to meet him and many more of my acquaintances."

"Really?" Alfred asked, eyes shining. Francis chuckled some more.

"Tu et très mignon, mon ami," he smiled, showing pearly white teeth. "All in due time," he finished, and Alfred realized his hand was still being held. Blushing, he pulled back and laughed nervously.

"…Right," he said, finally starting to read the atmosphere, and it was a little unnerving. Maybe it was just him, and maybe because the guy was French, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being hit on. "So do you wanna hear my stuff?" he asked, his mood shifting slightly nervous to apprehensive. He wanted to finish this meeting as soon as possible, this dude was kind of creeping him out.

"Ah, yes, but of course!" Francis said, turning around and walking gracefully to his desk. "You have to be more than a pretty face, mon ami, to work here. You have to have talent as well. Now, assez-vous, s'il vous plait," he said, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk. Alfred could only guess that it meant 'sit down' so he did so. Francis smiled, resting his chin on his hands and looking very interested. "Now, let's see what you have, shall we?" he asked, and the teen nodded, pulling out a small disk drive from his pocket.

"I like to play instruments, so I, uh, recorded myself playing various ones." He handed the French man the disk drive and it was plugged in to the very expensive looking laptop. After a few clicks the first song was playing, a short, five minute piano medley of a few songs that Alfred wrote and then proceeded to mesh them together. The dark blond teen was proud of it and thought it sounded very professional, however, when he looked over at the light haired French man, his facial expression was neutral, neither impressed nor displeased.

Next, Alfred was playing the saxophone to one of the songs the Nordics played, 'Cherish Me', his favorite song on their recent CD. He spent a week learning how to play it. He looked back over at Francis to show his expression hasn't changed yet. It discouraged Alfred a bit. He half expected the blue eyed producer to be smiling, nodding his head up and down with the beat, but he did nothing but stare at the screen of the laptop.

The last song was a three minute acoustic guitar solo, an extended edition of one of the piano medleys he wrote. Francis said nothing, and when the song ended the room remained silent. Instantly, Alfred was nervous again.

"Let me ask you a few questions," Francis started after a minute or so. The teen stiffened, but nodded anyways. Francis looked dead serious, his gaze locking onto Alfred's with unwavering fierceness. "Were you planning on going solo, or playing with a group?"

Alfred stopped fidgeting in his seat and thought for a second. "Well, the whole idea was me being solo…" he said, and Francis nodded.

"I see. Unfortunately, mon ami, with what you have showed me, it would be nearly impossible to go solo as an amateur with something like this. Les gens won't listen, they'll merely see an unfamiliar face and not bother with you. They want variety. If they saw more than one unfamiliar face, it might make them a bit curious, oui?" he asked, and Alfred felt the beginning of a headache with the constant French usage that he didn't understand, and then hearing that people wouldn't bother with him. It hurt and he was confused, but the last part of what the man said caught his attention.

"You want…me to pair up with someone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Francis winked and smiled.

"Oui! Amérique, tu est très intelligent!" he said with a chuckle. However, it was soon followed by a frown. "We do have someone who contacted us a few days ago who played music similar to yours. And because of that, we can't use you or your instruments, so unless you can contribute something else, we have no more to discuss." Alfred felt like his heart stopped beating. "I do believe, mon ami, that you do possess great talent, but what you showed me isn't what we need right now."

How did things turn out like this? How did a meeting that seemed to be going (awkwardly) great turn out so bad? Alfred wanted to burst into tears, his dream of being a famous musician crushed before his eyes. He played his best instruments, his best songs, he didn't have anything else to contribute.

Well, there was one more thing.

"Wait!" Alfred shouted, startling the French man who was in the process of handing his disk drive back to him.

"Oui?" Francis asked, genuinely confused. Alfred grinned.

"I can sing," he replied, pulling out his iPod, despite how inappropriate he knew it was at a business meeting. Francis didn't seem to mind, as he was seemingly interested in what the young man was doing.

"Sing?" asked, and Alfred nodded.

"I have a karaoke version of my favorite song, 'Just Like Heaven' on here. I'll sing it for you."

He hit play and the song started. Alfred wasn't as confident singing in front of others as he was with playing the instruments, but he told himself he would become well known somehow, and if this was the only way he'd deal with it.

"_Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick_

_The one that makes me scream" she said_

_"The one that makes me laugh" she said_

_And threw her arms around my neck_

_"Show me how you do it_

_And I promise you I promise that_

_I'll run away with you_

_I'll run away with you"_

He stopped at the first verse, opening his blue eyes that he didn't realize were closed. He looked slowly over to Francis, who he half expected to be frowning or have his face completely blank. However, he felt his heart thump in his chest to see the man was actually smiling. He liked it? "Um, what did you think?" he asked nervously, not sure if he wanted an answer or not. The last response the producer gave nearly tore his heart out, and if his voice didn't save him then his dream was done for. He stopped the song on his iPod and put the device away as Francis chuckled lightly.

"I was quite disappointed when you stopped, mon ami," he said. At first, Alfred felt the tears well up in his eyes, until his brain processed the rest of the sentence. He liked it! He really liked it!

"T-Thank you…" Alfred stuttered out, blushing slightly. "So does this mean t-that I'm useful enough to work with that guy you mentioned?"

Francis brought his hand up to his chin in thought. "I think with his and your skills combined, you would be très magnifique!" he smiled. "Just a few more people to play some more instruments and we can really begin."

Alfred paused. "Why couldn't I play any of my instruments?" he asked, earning another wink from Francis.

"I know a voice talent when I see one, Amérique, and I felt you would be better showing that talent."

Alfred smiled, though he felt it wasn't completely true, but it didn't matter. Francis continued. "Now, I shall have the person I talked about earlier step in tomorrow and talk about this together, so please come back at 8 a.m. sharp, okay?" he asked with a grin, and Alfred felt something bubble up in his stomach. Happiness? Yes. Excitement? Yes. Nervousness? Hell yes.

"Got it, 8 a.m. sharp. Thank you so much, sir!" he beamed, standing up from his seat. Francis nodded and smiled.

"Call me Francis, Alfred," he said. "Je suis très excité to work with you," he said, and the two shook hands and bid farewell, and, ignoring the seductive wink the man gave him, stiffly walked out of the office, trying to withhold the skipping motion he was bound to do once he got outside.

* * *

Alfred had a smile on his face the whole way to his apartment that he received after his parents' death last year. They were wealthy and Alfred had received their entire life savings and their life insurance money, so he was definitely able to survive on his own despite how pointless it felt sometimes when he was in a sad or lonely mood, but he didn't want to rely on his parents when they weren't even around anymore, he wanted to make his own name for himself.

It was dark, the street lights being the only things to light his way. He stepped in the front building of the large apartment complex and up to the top floor where he had a large apartment, two rooms, two baths, a large kitchen and den, and private access to the roof. In New York City, an apartment as perfect as his was hard to come by, but his parents managed and now it was his. His half brother continued to live with his mom in an apartment down the street and denied any of the inheritance despite his father was dead as well. He said Alfred would need it more if he was living by himself.

Alfred walked up to his door, raising an eyebrow as he noticed it was open partly. Was it Matthew? If it was, why were all the lights off? Cautiously, he opened it up all the way and stepped inside, greeted by the darkness. However, when he reached for a light switch, he quickly realized that he wasn't alone. Shuffling around could be heard in the eerie building, but Alfred, even with his glasses perched on his nose, couldn't make out any details due to not having adjusted to the darkness yet. However, he didn't need his eyes to see that he was being robbed.

Panic struck the teen and he instantly flipped on the switch. If he left then the guy could escape with his stuff, but if he turned on the light then he might scare the guy away.

When the light turned on, Alfred quickly scanned the den. Everything seemed normal, save for a few expensive knick knacks his parents used to decorate. The furniture wasn't torn up, the place wasn't in shambles, nothing. But that didn't go for the rest of the house. Grabbing the coat rack, Alfred ran through the hall and looked in various rooms, noticing things here and there that were gone. He stopped at his bedroom where the door was wide open and peeked inside slowly, hands trembling.

There was no one.

He needed to call the police. Shakily reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed the device and punched in the numbers. Before he hit call, however, he heard a clicking sound from behind him and froze.

"Put the phone down," a voice, deep and gruff said. Alfred recognized the clicking as the sound of a gun being taken off 'safety'. He really wished his western movies weren't useful at a time like this.

"Okay, calm down buddy," he said shakily, releasing his hold on the phone and letting it clatter to the floor. "Just take whatever and leave. "A g-gun is a bit overdramatic, right?" he asked, chuckling weakly and nearly choking as his heart practically leaped in his throat.

"Shut up," the man said. "I don't need your permission to do anything."

Alfred was by no means weak. He took a kick boxing class in high school and karate for a year, so he was built and could take care of himself. However, he was at the barrel end of a gun and couldn't see what his attacker looked like, so he was at a disadvantage. However, life seemed to start looking up and he didn't want it to end like this. Not like in those movies he loves or in the sappy soap operas he doesn't watch on purpose (only when there's nothing else on). His instinct taking over and his adrenaline rush kicking in, he managed to jump to the ground and catch the man off guard, kick his leg out and trip the guy. Alfred instantly tackled him to the ground, his first priority to take the gun away. Luck was on his side as the man seemed to be built smaller and Alfred could easily overpower him if he didn't have a weapon.

The gun slid across the floor as the two males continued to tussle, the teen throwing the guy against the wall as he tried to crawl towards the gun. Alfred ran towards the weapon but was tackled from behind a mere foot away from it. He rolled with the stranger across the floor throwing punches and kicks, and they were both trying to reach for the gun. Shoving him off, the man (who Alfred realized was wearing a black ski mask) dove towards the gun and grabbed it, only to have Alfred forcefully grab it from him.

The two fought over hold of the weapon, both having hands on it and pulling it away from each other when a hand slid down to the handle and, with the force of another tug, the trigger was accidently pulled, causing a single shot to ring out throughout the whole building. The two males locked gazes for a few seconds, wondering if something or someone was hit with that bullet or not, and suddenly Alfred toppled over on the ground as pain shot up through his chest.

_Fu…Fuck….no way. No way. Please no…_ he thought as he gasped for air and clutched at his chest.

"Shit!" The robber screamed, dropping the gun and taking off out of the apartment. Some screams could be heard from another room but Alfred didn't pay attention to any of that.

It couldn't end like this. He still had goals in life, things he wanted to achieve. He couldn't…

Darkness welcomed him as his hand fell from his chest to the floor, landing in the puddle of blood surrounding his body.

* * *

**A/N**

**No! Alfred! Why did I do that! Oh yeah, for the sake of the plot. Oops.**

**So, there's the first chapter! No go? If I get enough reviews I'll continue, so please tell me what you think! I hope the characters present remained in character. It's my first Hetalia fic so please bear with me!**


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't like it."

"Arthur, you haven't looked inside yet."

"I don't care, if this place is full of people like that dimwitted Italian down the hall then I'll be bloody damned if the interior would make a difference."

Yao sighed, pulling out the key he was given and unlocking the door, stepping inside the darkened apartment. "Then I will go in and have a look, you can stay out here," the Chinese male said with a sigh. The blond behind him gave a slight huff and followed inside, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur Kirkland hated America. He hated the country with a passion. Since he moved here a month ago, nothing good has happened to him, and his desire to move back to England sounded so strong in his ears he felt he would go deaf. However, everyone said the United States was the place where dreams became reality, and it was that phrase that kept him where he was. Sure, he lost some luggage when he first arrived, he couldn't find an apartment in his budget that wasn't gross, and he didn't think he'd ever find one in bleeding New York City, the inhabitants were rude little twats, he had to leave his piano back in London, and that no good record producing frog had yet to find him a suitable partner to begin recording with. Though he would much rather have a partner, the Brit was seriously debating going solo despite the odds against him just so he could get his dream career started with.

His dream, of course, was to become a famous music composer, something he couldn't do without a partner to sing or play his songs.

"What do you think?" Yao asked his friend as his hands found a light switch and flicked it on, encasing the whole room in the incandescent light. Arthur scanned the room, which appeared to be the living room. It was big, the light brown vinyl furniture promised in the brochure arranged neatly along the tan, olive colored walls, the wooden floors looked shiny and well kept, a few ornaments and pictures hung around, a fireplace could be seen in the far back, and a grand piano, wooden frame elegantly carved sat in the back.

Arthur did a double take at the piano, mouth slightly agape as he quickly walked up to it, his hands reaching out and skimming the polished surface. "Yao! Look at this for a moment!" he said, almost giddy. He didn't expect _this_ kind of instrument to be in a place like this. Sure, the place looked nice from the outside, and homey on the inside from what Arthur could see, but the last thing he heard was that a nineteen year old obnoxious boy lived here by himself, no job or family around. Definitely didn't sound like a description of a person who could play such an instrument. On top of that, a Chickering Concert brand, which was extremely old and valuable.

"Who on earth was this kid to be able to afford something like this?" he said, examining the ivory keys as his friend stood beside him. "This thing is peanuts!"

Yao smiled at him fondly, chuckling a little. "The landlady said the boy was an avid music lover. He came from a wealthy family trying to become a musician. He used to live here with his parents before they died." He shrugged his shoulders, a habit he picked up from living in the States for so long. "She wouldn't tell me about him, though. She said there was a robbery and he was sent to the hospital."

Arthur froze before shooting a glare at the young Asian man. "You chose not to tell me of this why?" he asked bitterly. "Why in the Queen's name would I want to live in a place that was robbed and where a chap was murdered?" He was raising his voice, but Yao didn't flinch. He was used to it, especially while helping his friend find an apartment to live in.

"I didn't think it was very important at the time since you refused to give this place a chance at first," he replied calmly before scratching the back of his head. "And she didn't say he died, just…implied it."

"That's so much better," Arthur stated, rolling his eyes before settling his gaze back on the piano. It was the most beautiful one he had ever seen, even prettier than the one he had to leave with his parents back in London. He would do anything to have this piano.

"If you want, we can go back to my apartment and continue to look for—"

"I'll take it," Arthur said, cutting the Chinese male off. Yao went silent, stunned for a few seconds.

"…What?" he asked, unsure if he heard correctly.

"I said I'll take it."

Yao, though he felt a rush of relief at hearing those words, couldn't help but frown. "That's great, Arthur, but you haven't seen the whole apartment yet. I heard it has private roof access, and have you seen out the windows? A nice view," the Asian man smiled. "You should look at everything before making a final decision. There might be something you don't like. Fat North American pigs have no sense of taste when it comes to architecture or decorating."

"I want this piano," Arthur insisted, everything his friend told him going in one ear and out the other.

Yao sighed. "It's not a one year lease either, you just pay monthly. I—"

"It's fine, I still want it."

Absentmindedly, Arthur reached down and pressed a key, his heart leaping at the gentle sound it produced. Though rarely people could tell, piano lovers like Arthur knew that not every piano sounded the same, even if it wasn't even an octave higher, every piano had its own sound, its own personality that reflected from its previous owner. And call the Briton crazy (he believes he can see fairies), but he couldn't help but feel sadness emit from the beautiful vibrations that filled the once silent room.

The Chinese man watched him curiously. "You want an entire apartment because of a piano?" he asked, and Arthur shot him a look.

"Don't question me," he said with a glare that softened as he looked at his friend and current roommate, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Be happy you won't have to deal with me for a while," he said, this time good naturedly. Yao chuckled.

"It's no trouble at all to house a friend," he said. "Despite how crazy you sound right now. Then again, I'm sure all you Europeans are like that." Arthur reached over and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Well thank you, I think." He glanced back at the piano. "So who do I call and what do I sign?"

* * *

Arthur moved in a few days later, the task not being difficult due to having very few belongings stored at Yao's apartment. The rent was fairly cheap considering all of the factors, like the view, the roof access, the fireplace and whatnot, because very few people have looked at it with the robbery that happened, not to mention they could be kicked out any month if the original owner came back from wherever he was. Though, with how Yao talked about it, it was a big deal and the lad probably wouldn't be back for a long time, if not ever, considering it is unknown whether he was even alive or not.

Arthur didn't mind the small details, the only thing that mattered was that he had a roof that was his over his head and a piano. His slender and delicate fingers itched to press the keys, to hear the melodramatic sound produced by the vibrations of the strings. He wanted to learn its history, its feelings.

Playing the piano was the reward for him unpacking all of his things, so he didn't dawdle by staring at it and set right to work.

Something felt different than usual that day, and Arthur couldn't place what it was. The fully furnished apartment felt full, like something was added without his knowledge, there was something there that wasn't supposed to be there.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts and headed towards the bedroom with a box for his sheets and bedding in his hands. When he entered, he stared disdainfully at the superman sheets he had piled on the floor earlier, along with the blanket with the design and appearance of a large American flag. He couldn't tell from the living room, the den, the kitchen, or the guest room when he inspected them, but the male who lived here before was extremely patriotic, something that this room reflected with the bedding, the stuffed eagle that rested in the corner on the floor, the cowboy pictures that occasionally appeared on the wall, along with a few scantily dressed cowgirls, cheap McDonald's knick knacks on the dresser, a poster of some American icon pointing a finger towards the observer with the words 'WE WANT YOU' under him, and more things Arthur didn't care to name. The poster freaked him out a little, so he proceeded to take it down and roll it up gently, placing it in the closet that was full of clothes that didn't belong to him. He stuffed all the tacky American things in a plastic bag that he also shoved in there, having been told that nothing belonged to him so he should not throw anything out.

That nagging feeling in the back of his head remained, even after he was finished personalizing his room and set to work in the den. Though nothing really needed to be done there, he had a few ornaments he got back in England he wanted to hang on his walls. He simply chalked up the feeling with the stress of his work and moving. He was alone in his apartment, there was no need to get paranoid.

"Hello?" A voice called into the room, and instantly Arthur jumped ten feet in the air. He shot his head over towards the door that was slowly opening, a head of neatly styled black hair poking in. "Alfred?" The voice sounded almost hopeful.

Arthur willed his heart to slow down and walked towards the door. "Oh, um, it's Arthur," he answered, his emerald eyes focusing on the male before him. He was Asian, and if Arthur had to guess he was Japanese. He had dark brown eyes that looked over at him in momentary surprise, his raven colored hair framing his face neatly, his clothes a simple white tee shirt and skinny black jeans.

"Oh! Sumimasen," he said, taking a step back out of the apartment. "I did not mean to be rude and intrude, I heard noises up here and thought…" his voice trailed off as his brown orbs fell to the ground sadly, his head bowing slightly. "My friend lived here and I haven't seen him since the accident. I…I thought he came back."

Arthur felt a slight pang of guilt as he watched the male. "Oh," he said, not sure how to continue. "Well, I… I rented this apartment."

"Wakata," the Japanese boy said, nodding. "I knew it was for rent, but I figured he would come back by now. It's been three months."

"…Sorry?" Arthur tried, not sure what the right thing to say was. The atmosphere was thick and heavy and both knew it. The awkwardness only added to it.

"My name is Kiku Honda, by the way," he said, his forlorn expression turning into a slight smile. Arthur forced a smile.

"A-Arthur Kirkland," he replied, holding out his hand. Kiku froze for a split second before smiling and taking the offered hand.

"Arthur sounds similar to Alfred," he mused, and Arthur chuckled.

"That was his name? Alfred?" he asked, and Kiku nodded.

"Hai."

Arthur gave a small chuckle. "You seem like a jolly young lad, I'm sure Alfred is lucky to have a mate like you, coming to check up on him and such."

The blush that appeared on the Asian male's face was hard to miss as he spluttered and averted his eyes to the ground. "Mates…friends…yes, Alfred is a very good friend to me…I…we are close…" he said, obviously overcome with embarrassment. The Brit was confused but didn't question it and smiled. Kiku's head shot up. "Well, I should be going. Sorry to have bothered you! Sayonara!" he bowed, turning around and rushing towards the stairs to presumably go back to his own apartment.

Arthur stood there, his door wide open for a few more seconds before scratching the back of his blond, messy hair and stepping back inside. "What a strange fellow," he sighed. He expected it, however, due to the few other neighbors he'd had the displeasure of meeting. That didn't matter now, however, because he could officially say he was done packing and had a piano waiting for him.

He hastily grabbed the now empty boxes and walked towards a large hallway closet, sliding it open to place them inside and out of the way. He noticed a large guitar case and beside that what was unmistakably a saxophone case. So this Alfred chap played more than the piano? Arthur could say he was honestly impressed. He didn't touch the instruments, though, and instead set the boxes down beside them, turning to head back towards the den. His fingers twitched in excitement.

He pulled the blackened wood covering up to reveal the smooth ivory keys. His fingers absently brushed against them, not putting enough pressure down to create a sound, just to get a feel. His music sheets were still back in his room, but he was too entranced to get up and get them. He needed to play now. He was thirsty and the piano was the only thing that could quench his thirst. He wanted to drink up the sounds greedily, as if he'd been lost in a desert and had found an oasis. He could play something from memory, it wasn't difficult. He'd play something he wrote. Something he created.

Slowly but surely, his fingers danced around the keys, softly at first as the first part of the melody was sad and wishful, until the tempo picked up and the sound deepened, sounding angry.

He wrote this song back in England while thinking of a memory he had in childhood. He wanted to go outside to play, but due to the fact it was nearing winter, the wind was too cold and his parents forbade it. He was angry, his four older brothers teasing him until he went up to his room and cried. However, that day it started to snow, and the little flakes dancing to the ground were so pretty that Arthur had forgotten how upset he was and just seemed content to watch them, opening up his hand and allowing the flakes to blow into his room. He was happy, it was the first time he was glad it snowed in dreary London.

The song gradually grew lighter until the angry tone turned into a small, happy one. Arthur had a good life growing up, and he felt confident that, though he was in an unfamiliar area and things haven't gone perfectly yet, they would look up if he stayed hopeful.

"That was amazing, dude," a voice sounded from beside the Brit once the song ended on a happy note. Arthur turned his head to see another figure sitting on the piano bench beside him, and instantly the blond found himself on the floor, having stumbled off the seat in shock and surprise.

"What the—who the bloody hell are you?" he growled, forcing himself up as he backed up against the wall behind him. Had he been so lost in his music that he failed to hear the door open or some bloke sit beside him?

The man looked younger than Arthur, possibly in his late teens, with sandy blond hair with a strange cowlick sticking straight up and deep, clear blue eyes. He had a large smile on his face as he looked over at the Brit, a black tie hanging loosely from his neck and a white button up shirt that was un-tucked over black slacks.

"I was just gonna ask you that, dude, seeing as this is my apartment and all," he laughed, something that filled the room. It was loud and boisterous, but somehow enticing.

"I don't have money here and—did you say this was _your_ apartment?" he asked, his thick brows furrowing. Another laugh from the male.

"Yep! Lived here for about three years now." His grin widened. "What about you, eyebrows? Whadda you doing here?"

The nickname and question caught him off guard and instantly Arthur's hands flew up to cover that part of his face. "YOU TWAT! WHAT DID YOU—" he started before he realized the blond he was talking to was no longer there. Arthur's blood ran cold.

Giving a slight gasp, he quickly glanced around the room to see that person no longer in sight. He glanced back to the piano, the bench empty as if there had never been someone sitting on it. His heart was pounding vigorously in his ears and his shoulders trembled slightly. Had he been imagining it? Was there really a teenager sitting on that bench talking to him not even a minute ago?

It was that moment that Arthur's cell chose to ring, nearly making the Brit jump out of his skin. Hastily and out of breath, he answered it with a snappy 'WHAT!'

"_Oh my, mon petit chou, did I call at a bad time?_" the voice, thick with a French accent, sounded on the other line. "_I hope I wasn't interrupting something…_" his voice trailed off suggestively, and Arthur realized how wrong he sounded, panting on the phone. Granted it was from overexertion and fear, not from…certain activities.

"Shut up frog, what do you want?" he barked, still trying to get over his panic attack. The French man laughed.

"_I believe I found someone to work with you,_" Francis replied on the other end. _"He's not nearly as good as the last one but he has a nice voice. Though his personality could take some getting used to._"

"About time," Arthur mumbled. "I was honestly debating about going solo."

"_You, mon petit Angleterre, are just too impatient. Can you come down to my office tomorrow around noon to meet him?_" he asked, and Arthur thought to see if he had plans for tomorrow.

"I think that would be fine. I'll give you a ring if something comes up," he said, hanging up the mobile and putting it in his pocket, letting out a long sigh. His nerves were still jittery and his heart was still pounding, but he settled to believe that everything that happened was all in his head, there was no ghost or ghoul running around in his apartment so there was no need for alarm. He glanced out the window.

It was still early in the afternoon, the sun was high in the sky. He had unpacked his few belongings and the piano, the sole reason he moved into this building, didn't seem so appealing to him at the moment, so he decided to go for a stroll around the neighborhood to clear his head and calm his nerves. There was no one in the room besides him. The feeling of being watched was all in his head.

Heading down the steps, Arthur nearly froze when he spotted the familiar mop of brown hair that attacked him earlier. Before he had the chance to turn around and sneak back up the stairs, an excited gasp was heard along with running footsteps and before the Brit knew it, he was tackled to the ground full force.

"Ah! Get off of me you bloody wanker!" Arthur screamed, trying to pry the arms off from around his torso.

"I don't know what you called me but I'm so happy to see you!" The accent was Italian, though instead of rich and enticing it was loud and annoying. "You moved in today, right?" the male asked, sitting up and releasing the blond man, causing Arthur to sigh in relief and sit up, glaring at the amber eyes that met his, the copper curl that jut out from the side of his head bobbing up and down as his head moved.

With the happy and joyful look he was receiving, Arthur found it hard to stay mad. "Uh, F-Feliciano, was it?" he asked, earning an eager nod in reply.

"Ve~! I'm so happy you remembered my name!" he squealed, and Arthur winced, hoping not to get another hug.

"Uh, yes, I moved in today. I was just about to go on a stroll through the neighborhood."

Feliciano smiled widely, his eyes now closed like the day Arthur first met him. "Fun! Can I come? I want to be your friend!"

Arthur mentally punched himself. "Maybe next time, I wanted to relax a little after moving in." Feliciano nodded in understanding.

"Ah okay! Well if you see my fratello, tell him to come home, the pasta is almost done!"

Though Arthur had no idea what this young Italian's brother looked like, he nodded and continued down the last flight of stairs and out the door. The residents of his apartment complex were…unnerving, to say the least. At least the few that he met. And as Arthur walked down the sidewalk and turned towards the park, he was debating over whether or not a piano was really worth dealing with strange people like this.

"Leave me alone, you tomato-bastard!"

"Lovi~! Don't be that way! What's the matter, mi querido?"

The voice was accented in Italian as well, which left Arthur to assume it belonged to Feliciano's brother. The second was Hispanic by the sound of it. Passing the opening to the park, the two people raced out of it, the first body moving quickly past Arthur while the second one turned and crashed right into him, causing the Brit to fall ungracefully on the concrete. "Ow!" he screeched, opening his eyes to see a man, around his age with shaggy and slightly curled brunet hair and light skin, matching emerald eyes scanning him up and down, an apologetic look on his face as he quickly stood up from his spot on the ground.

"Lo siento, mi amigo! My bad!" He held out his hand which, with a half hearted glare, Arthur took and stood up, dusting himself off.

"It's not a problem," he replied. The man smiled as a scoffing could be heard from behind them.

"You moron, watch where you're going!" the Italian growled, causing the Spaniard to laugh.

"Lovi's so mean, don't mind him. He doesn't mean it," the male replied. "Mi nombre Antonio!" he smiled.

"Arthur," Arthur replied, turning towards the angry Italian. "You must be Feliciano's brother. I moved into your apartment complex today. I was told if I saw you to hurry home. I believe dinner is almost done."

The male resembled Feliciano in many ways, the most noticeable thing being the hair curl jutting out from the top of his head. His hair was darker, however, his eyes holding a slight hazel hue and a permanent scowl was etched onto his face. He seemed slightly surprised at what Arthur said, but it wore off and he frowned again.

"Whatever," he replied, shooting a glare at Antonio before turning and walking away. "I'm going home, don't follow me you jerk," he said, disappearing around the corner.

"What's his malfunction?" Arthur frowned, turning towards the much friendlier Spaniard.

Antonio chuckled softly. "He hates me and I keep bothering him." The male shook his head. "I tend to come off a little too strong at times, I admit, but I want him to come out of his shell. His anger is a defense mechanism, and I want to show him he doesn't have to be that way around me." He sighed. "We haven't known each other very long, so he doesn't trust me, but he refuses to try to get to know me." He chuckled again, glancing back at Arthur. "Sorry, mi amigo. We don't know each other at all and I'm telling you all this. Must be weird."

Arthur gave a small shrug. "It's fine, maybe you should just give him some space. The bloke might not be used to being around a chap such as yourself. He'll open up in time, be patient." He offered Antonio a smile. "I hope I helped."

The Spaniard grinned. "Gracias, mi amigo. I'll try that!" He looked up at the dimming sky. "Well, I better be off. I was invited to dinner by Feli, but I think I'll pass today. Give Lovino some space. Thanks bro!" he smiled, and with a handshake, took off in the opposite direction. Arthur watched him before sighing and shaking his head.

What was with him attracting such weird people?

Deciding to skip the rest of his walk and head back to his apartment, the Brit turned around and walked the five minutes back to his building. It was getting late anyways, though the fact that he didn't get very far annoyed him. Sighing, he unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, the cool air conditioned air greeting him. Remembering what happened earlier today, he cautiously flicked on the light and glanced around the living room, finding no presence or trace of anyone. He released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"It really must have been in my head," the Brit sighed and headed towards his bedroom, pulling off his sweater vest and starting to unbutton his shirt. Soon he'd have to pull out his sweaters and jackets. It was starting to get a little cold outside.

He opened up his bedroom door and plopped right on the bed, slowly sliding his shoes off and unbuttoning the rest of his buttons. He was tired despite having did practically nothing all day. The thought was laughable.

_Maybe it's from being harassed by so many strange people,_ he thought to himself, smiling and rolling over on the large bed, not even comprehending the fact that he came face to face with another person. His eyes stared tiredly into familiar blue ones, brows raised in question with a slight frown on his thin lips.

"Dude, what are you still doing here?" he asked and, with a yawn, Arthur shrugged and rolled over, facing away from the person on his bed. With him. While he was halfway naked.

Brain slowly putting two and two together, he jumped back off the bed and onto the floor, crawling backwards until his back hit the closet.

"Y-you—why are you here?" he gasped out. He had to be seeing things. There was no way this boy could have snuck in without him noticing. The teen huffed and sat up from the bed, arms crossed.

"I told you, eyebrows, this is _my_ apartment."

* * *

**A/N**

**There will be more pairings in this story than just US/UK, and by some of the characters introduced in this chapter I'm sure you can guess what a few of them are. If there is a specific pairing you would like to see, I might be able to write it in if I wasn't planning on doing so already. And if you think the interaction between Alfred and Arthur was slow, its because I don't want to rush the story, I want their relationship to have more time to develop.**

**And the whole, Spain and Romano thing, there is a point to their fight and the interaction between Spain and England, you won't find out what it is until later in the story. But Spamano is like, my second favorite pairing I think because Spain is freaking adorable and I love how he acts with Romano. **

**I'm trying to make it so that all of the main eight characters and the main supporting characters are heavily involved, so keep an eye out for your favorite character! And please let me know if anyone is OOC, I hate when that happens. **

**Next chapter: We meet Arthur's possible partner, more Alfred and Arthur interaction (good or bad, you'll find out!), and some more characters are introduced.**


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